


Misdemeanors

by whiskeyandspite



Series: Shared Madness - The Hannibal Drabble Dump [9]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Fingering, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, School Boy AU, Teasing, and I honestly don't care, nothing about this is ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 08:47:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1463110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It had been years since Will had been forced to write lines. Most people stopped bothering after he handed in his page filled with far ruder words than he’d been commanded to write. Principal Crawford had simply started enforcing something akin to solitary confinement for Will’s punishments, because it left him no one to annoy and nothing to damage. But it also never left a strong enough negative message to deter him from breaking rules again.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Then he’d showed up at Dr. Lecter’s lecture, late, with his button undone, his tie askew, and a pink bubblegum bubble heralding his arrival.</i>
</p><p>-</p><p>A combination of three drabbles I did in October, that involve Will as a senior at high school and Hannibal as his chemistry teacher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misdemeanors

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, it's tropey, sue me. I have a thing. Don't hear none of you complaining on tumblr ;)
> 
> Going into the drabble dump.
> 
> For those who wonder if I stole this, rest assured. [Sun-to-sirius](http://sun-to-sirius.tumblr.com/) is me, and I am [sun-to-sirius](http://sun-to-sirius.tumblr.com/). This be mine, so here it goes.

It happens just after chemistry, after Will had spent the entire class rocked back on the two back legs of his chair, pencil tangling over and over in his hair. He’d not been told off once, today, he’d noticed. Not for wearing his uniform incorrectly, not for swinging back in his seat. Not for the gum he obnoxiously popped over and over before casually pressing it to the underside of his desk.

Dr. Lecter must have decided Will wasn’t worth the trouble; most teachers did eventually, it’s why he got away with so much. Principal Crawford had simply stopped caring after a while. He would give the expected detentions, but he knew that it would work on Will as well as spraying him with a mister bottle.

He terrorized the school in his calm, quiet way over and over, and was both revered and hated by the student body for being able to get away with so much, and for trying so much in the first place. Somehow, his antics did not impress the only girl he cared to impress, and Alana met his advances with a roll of the eyes and moving to another table in the library.

But now he packs up to leave, deliberately takes his time until he’s the last out, knowing that Dr. Lecter can’t close up the class and leave for his own lunch until every student has been seen out the door; chemistry labs needed to be locked when not in use, and Will is still disappointed that he isn’t the cause of that particular rule, though he is the prime example as to why the rule is still enforced. 

He swings his bag over his shoulder and kicks his chair in, the sound echoing around the lab, before heading to the door —

— and finding himself suddenly pinned against it.

"I believe I did tell you, countless times, Mr. Graham," Dr. Lecter’s voice is pitched low, his hand splayed heavy and warm from Will’s collarbone to just above his stomach, "To do up that button."

Will just grins, a new piece of gum between his teeth now, and chews it loudly before replying.

"This is technically harassment, Dr. Lecter," he purrs, "Could have you in jail for inappropriate physical contact."

His teacher merely smiles, pulls his hand away only to draw it up, his other moving there also, to do the button up for Will. Will’s eyes flick between Dr. Lecter’s own over and over, back and forth, until he meets them again, then Will smiles wider.

"Guess I’ll let it slide this time." he murmurs.

The warm hands slide down his chest, far enough that Will swallows, shifts just a little, but they only take up the tie resting loose against his shirt and tighten it, setting the knot - done wrong, done badly - against the point at Will’s throat where his shirt closes.

"Much obliged." comes the accented reply, before Dr. Lecter glances away and steps back. Will takes a moment, licking his lips and exhaling before pushing up to leave the room.

"And Mr. Graham," Will turns, carefully clicking the door closed again when Lecter’s eyes linger on the opening, "As charitable as you have been towards my patience, let me assure you that next time you disobey me, I shall not let is slide.”

There is such promise in those words, such a deep, thrumming heat, that Will swallows thickly, runs the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip and nods.

"Of course." he says, waiting for Dr. Lecter to nod and turn away before adding, _"Sir.”_

+++

It had been years since Will had been forced to write lines. Most people stopped bothering after he handed in his page filled with far ruder words than he’d been commanded to write. Principal Crawford had simply started enforcing something akin to solitary confinement for Will’s punishments, because it left him no one to annoy and nothing to damage. But it also never left a strong enough negative message to deter him from breaking rules again.

Then he’d showed up at Dr. Lecter’s lecture, late, with his button undone, his tie askew, and a pink bubblegum bubble heralding his arrival.

He left much the same way, only with a pink slip replacing the gum, informing him that he was to report to this classroom at the end of the day for detention. He knew the note would be followed up, knew that the dorm would be informed that he would be late due to detention… he could always avoid it, it wasn’t difficult, but something about irking the man in those ridiculous glasses and with his stupid accent would make Will’s day.

So he’d gone. And had laughed when he’d been presented with a chalkboard with one line written across the top, in looping sloped letters: “I shall not misbehave.”

"You’re joking." he says, turning to regard his professor with a look of utter disbelief. Dr. Lecter merely raises an eyebrow.

"I gave you fair warning, Mr. Graham." he tells him, tilting his head and regarding Will’s expression just over the top of his glasses. "You are to fill the board with those lines. If you write others, I will force you to clean them off and begin again, regardless of how many you manage beforehand. I have permission to keep you here for as long as this takes, so by all means, test my patience." he smiles, it’s not a nice expression, "It is doubtful yours will outlast mine."

And so they begin. And Will takes his time deliberately writing out inappropriate lines, which he is asked to erase immediately upon completion. For twenty minutes he does nothing else, pushing to see how long he could before the professor gave up, as every other member of staff had before him. But he finds Dr. Lecter patient and firm, calmly issuing instructions until Will decides to screw with him another way.

"I’ve run out of chalk." he complains, perhaps two hours in. Dr. Lecter raises his eyes from his paperwork and calmly opens the top drawer of his desk to present him with a box of chalk, not yet opened.

"Be mindful," he tells him, when Will takes the entire box up, "That if you damage the chalk, I shall not leave the room to get more. You will be forced to write the lines regardless, even if you have to use your fingers and the dust you have made."

Will blinks, fingers around the box frozen as the man nearly reads his mind. It’s unnerving, and his cheeks darken before he takes out a fresh piece of chalk, thin and long enough to extend the length of his pointer finger and down his palm a little, and sets the box down again, flipping Dr. Lecter off in the process.

For a while, he writes, handwriting crooked and deliberately difficult to read, easy enough so the man doesn’t make him rub out legitimate lines, but ugly regardless. He waits. Will has always outlasted teachers before, he can outlast this one.

He has completed one side of the board before he slumps against the board, his forehead pressed against the chalk lines.

"My arm hurts."

"Surprising." Dr. Lecter replies, not even lifting his eyes to Will this time. He’s finished his paperwork now, and taken up a book. "Considering how often such a punishment is issued to you. Keep writing, Mr. Graham, you have the rest of the board to fill."

Will groans, a petulant, irritating sound, and turns to look at his teacher.

"But I’ve done this much already."

"And you will do more." dark eyes flick up for a moment, barely covered by the glasses, then return to the words in the book. "Proceed."

Will glares. Eyes narrowed and lips pressed together and wonders how it is that he’s not getting under this man’s skin. he has never once raised his voice at Will, never become even remotely irritated. He thinks back to the first ‘warning’ regarding his tie and shirt, and how that had ended, and tries one final tactic.

“You get off on this, don’t you.” He tells him, feeling the corners of his mouth lift when Dr. Lecter finally looks up, the same slow, careful deliberation. He says nothing. Will continues.

“You’re so frustrated you channel it into this mindless, numbing work.” He grins, victory, he’s sure, before turning to the board and continuing to write. “You needa get laid, Dr. Lecter, bad.”

He finishes another line with a flourish and moves to the next, grinning to himself that he’s probably finally pissed the man off enough to go early, or just to fuck with him so he’s upset. When he hears the chair push back against the lab floor he nearly bounces in victory.

“I’ll give you credit, you lasted longer than most –“ but he stops goading, stops moving, when he feels Dr. Lecter step up behind him, close, and curl a hand around his front to pull him closer.

“What –“

“You’re right,” he murmurs, so close that his breath tickles Will’s ear and he shivers, “I channel a lot of frustration into my teaching.” His hand slides lower, just skirting the waistline of Will’s pants, his shirt untucked to cover his belt, as always.

Will glances to the door, hand still poised against the blackboard. Behind him, Dr. Lecter hums an amused sound.

“You can look all you like, Mr. Graham, you have drawn your punishment out for so long that only ourselves and the janitorial staff are left. I doubt you will get much sympathy from them.”

Will swallows.

“I could report you.” He says quietly, though his voice doesn’t quite hold the conviction he wishes it would. And again, the gentle hum of amusement.

“Of course you could, William,” Will swallows again at the way he says his name, “But who would believe you if you did?”

There’s a pause, in which Will considers if that was meant as a threat or simply a statement of fact. He settles on the latter, nothing Dr. Lecter has done has been to harm him. no violence, no anger, simply patience, infuriating, agonising patience.

“You have lines to write,” the man purrs behind him, “And if I were you, I’d get to them quickly.”

He settles his hand lower still, just between Will’s legs and holds there while the other struggles.

“Fuck,” Will jerks but it’s more from surprise than anything else. He’s embarrassed to feel himself warming to the touch, not quite pushing into it but certainly enjoying it. “You’re not serious.”

“I am quite serious.”

Will waits a beat, two, before deciding that arguing now would be a monumentally bad idea. So he takes up the chalk again and begins to write. Over and over, line after line, until the soft fingers against his cock flex in a gentle massage and he finds himself unable to keep the same rhythm going. He stops.

“You’re not finished.” Dr. Lecter reminds him quietly. Will nods jerkily before changing his mind and shaking his head instead.

“I can’t do it like that.”

“That’s a shame,” the tone is lower, smoother, and makes Will bite back a sound he really shouldn’t be making when his damn teacher’s hand is on his cock. “Because you aren’t going home until it’s done.”

The hand squeezes a little tighter and Will lets this sound out, quiet and helpless, and rocks his hips forward.

“Please…”

“Until you earn it,” comes the calm reply, “You will not get relief. Continue with your lines.”

Will whimpers but obliges, starting on another set, hands shaking by the time he reaches the end, the words near-illegible now because he’s trembling and rubbing against the hand holding him, not because he’s making it difficult on purpose. In this case, Dr. Lecter is.

He makes it three more lines before the chalk snaps, bent too hard against the board, and Will drags it down as he leans forward, a stark white jagged line against the dull green as the friction gets too much, he’s so, so close.

“You will finish them, William.”

He sobs, unashamedly and loudly, bites his lip and nods, pushing back far enough to see what he’s writing as he adjusts his grip on the chalk and continues, faster, messier, but he obeys. Over and over until the board is filled and he bends against it, arches back and pleads.

As cruel as the man is with his patience, he is also fair with his promises. He strokes Will through until the other comes, messy and hot in his pants, rocking back and forth against the hand on his crotch and Dr. Lecter’s hips behind him, where he can feel just how hard the man is after this ordeal.

For a while they stay still, Hannibal shifting his hand up to rest against Will’s stomach again, rubbing gentle circles against it until the boy calms down.

“I expect there to be no misdemeanors in future.”

Will swallows, shaking his head against the board, hair collecting the thin white dust from the chalk there.

“Perhaps just a few…” he manages finally, not yet turning to look his teacher in the eye. He doubts he will ever be able to again, without thinking of this, without craving it. “If this is the punishment.”

“Punishments fit their crimes, William,” Dr. Lecter tells him, turning his head just enough to nuzzle against his neck, smiling when Will tilts his head to accommodate. “Remember.”

And then he steps back, to his desk to retrieve a tissue and wipe his hands clean.

“You may go.” he tells him, giving Will a look over the rims of his glasses, and Will does, nodding again and moving stiffly to gather his bag from right by the door before struggling to get it open.

“Dr. Lecter?”

The other looks up, meets Will’s eyes, the wide pupils, the parted lips, the blush that’s laying sweet and red over his cheeks and nose, painting him far more innocent than the young man is. Slowly, he smiles.

“Good evening, William.” He says, and all Will can do is nod.

+++

It’s the height of summer, the evening sticky and hot, and Will has never felt more reluctant to take his clothes off in his life. But the eyes watching him, soft, brown, behind those thick frames Will had thought to tease and had never brought himself to, are reassuring, giving him his space, his own time.

Will had asked for this, after all. A graduation present, he had called it, for my good behavior.

The joke had been well received, the kiss hot and insistent before Hannibal had obliged. Graduation, after all, was not a daily occurrence, and he had taught Will to be very, very good in the last few months.

And now he watches him, sees the nerves send tremors through the young man, that are so fetching, perhaps because he is simply nervous, worried, and not frightened or reluctant. He would never have allowed it otherwise. He wants Will as much on his terms as on his own, a negotiation, as any relationship is.

So he crosses one ankle over the other, arms loose against his chest, and stretches out on the bed to wait, to watch as Will peeled away the thin white shirt - pressed for a change - to reveal his thin frame. This at least, he’d seen before, againt at Will’s insistence. A reward for the boy’s impeccable behavior for the week, his much improved results in chemistry. It’s then his fingers drop to fumble with the catch of his pants that Hannibal sits up, just enough, and Will swallows before drawing the fly down.

He is as lithe here as everywhere, wiry and young, a beautiful boy. The pants get folded and set away, on the same chair over which his shirt hands, and then Will finally steps out of his boxers and Hannibal can see what he has to work with.

Will takes the scrutiny with a dark blush and an eventual smile, watching Hannibal respond to him with his body language, his expressions. He licks his bottom lip gently into his mouth and walks over to the bed, crawling onto it carefully to straddle Hannibal, watches the other uncross his arms to slide them up to Will’s shoulders instead. Now that he’s this close, Will doesn’t know what to do beyond kiss him, so he does.

Hannibal’s hands slide down Will’s back, following the familiar slope, the warm skin, down to splay low against his back until Will shifts a little and they slide lower still. Hannibal smiles, feels the expression mirrored on Will’s lips, and moves his hands to cup just at the top of his thighs and tug him closer.

It’s a slow movement, and hot, Will completely naked and Hannibal fully dressed, and it doesn’t take long for the gentle friction Will has built up with his slow pressing to work him up to quiet gasps an needy nuzzles against the other’s neck.

"Please," he murmurs, "You said you would."

And he had. Had promised Will that he would finally consummate so much patience on the night of his graduation, and promises are things Hannibal always keeps. He drops one hand to his own pocket, the other still holding warm and firm against William’s thigh, and retrieves the little bottle there, enough for the evening, perhaps, but not much more. Here he withdraws his other hand as well, tilts the bottle to pour some of the slick liquid onto his fingers before setting it aside, and skirting his fingers slow, gentle, down Will’s side until he can press them gently against his hole and rub.

Will shivers, the sensation new and unusual but not unpleasant, and presses closer. He bites down gently against the lapel of Hannibal’s coat when he pushes the first finger in, and hums gently as he’s eased into it, until he starts pushing his hips back against the motion seeking more, and deeper. Hannibal allows it, adds another.

It’s slow, and soon Will’s back is shiny with a thin sheen of sweat, teeth parted again on quiet gasps of pleasure at the unusual sensation. He knows it will be a bigger stretch, hurt more when it’s Hannibal, but he doesn’t care. He’s waited as long as the other has for this, he wants it just as much - if not more, with his hormones raging through his body, taking over his blood.

He’s about to shift back, impatient, joke that he can handle it, that he doesn’t want to wait, when Hannibal curls his fingers just so and Will sees white.

The sound is incredible. Not particularly loud, but so genuine that Hannibal bites his own lip on a groan. Will’s lips are parted wide, the shape trembling between an ‘o’ and a softly parted line as Hannibal’s fingers gently massage his prostate over and over, until the sounds coming from Will are constant, the way he grabs at Hannibal’s jacket, his shirt, his arms is so beautifully desperate.

And then he keeps going.

Rubs and presses until Will’s whimpers turn to sobs, genuine in that as well, wet little sounds as he pushes back against his fingers and spreads his legs wider. His back arches, his toes curl, and he buries his face in Hannibal’s neck as the sobs become constant, pleasurable innocent sounds as Will works himself closer and closer.

"You promised," he whimpers, raises his head when Hannibal strokes his hair, can;t quite manage to return the smile Hannibal bestows on him.

"I did." is all he says, and pushes harder, enough for Will’s voice to leave him in quick, loud keens and then he’s coming, body shaking and eyes closed, lips parted beautifully for air. It’s only when he’s calmed down, enough to breathe properly, to open his eyes, that Hannibal gently presses the little bottle into his hand, and drops his own down to undo the fly on his pants.

"And I will."


End file.
